The world below stretched out like a mosaic of snow-capped peaks and forests shimmering under the sun. The sunlight struck the eternal ice, turning entire valleys into rivers of diamonds. Arngrim crouched on the back of the Ice Phoenix, trying to ignore the biting cold piercing through his coat.
Each beat of the creature's wings sent swirls of powdered snow sparkling like stardust. The Phoenix was a breathtaking sight: its bluish ice feathers acted like prisms, refracting light into dancing rainbows that painted the air. From its body emanated a frigid aura that kept the feathers perpetually crystalline, creating a wintry microclimate even under the sun.
Angelica stood unwavering. Perched on a platform of ice she had conjured on the Phoenix's back, she looked as if carved from glacial marble. Her white robe and ermine cape floated gracefully, contrasting with her ebony-black hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her ice-blue eyes swept across the landscape with regal disdain.
"M-my f-frosty dawn!" Arngrim stammered, teeth chattering. "Y-you should've s-seen my b-bravery! Two very powerful masters, but I didn't back down! If it weren't for... that creature..."
"Shut your mouth before I throw you overboard!" Angelica's voice sliced through the air like a blade, overpowering the whistle of the wind. "Just tell me what happened."
Arngrim clung to the sharp feathers as the Phoenix plunged over an icy canyon.
"T-the crystal was s-safe! A treasure of 10,000 winters! P-pulsing like—" He choked. "—but a m-monster s-surprised me!"
Angelica turned with the grace of a snow whirlwind. Her cloak cast a dramatic silhouette against the sun.
"Another master?" Her eyes narrowed like glacial fissures. "How much trouble this time? Your aura...! Who was the wretch that damaged your mana cores?"
Arngrim swallowed hard. In broad daylight, his shamefaced expression was laid bare.
"It was... a 'Ceramic Colossus,'" he murmured.
"A Ceramic Colossus..." Angelica repeated. The Phoenix let out a curious chirp, equally intrigued.
Angelica had never seen such a monster before, so she asked what it looked like, and Arngrim, pensive, replied:
"It was colossal, the size of two mist dragons. Its surface was rough, speckled with grains of sand; I'd never seen a shape like that before—rectangular! Its body, ghastly and still capable of sending chills down my spine, had no eyes or limbs—a misshapen, terrifying being."
Arngrim remained faithful to the monster's true description; at least, from his perspective, he wasn't lying.
Angelica crossed her arms. Instant frost bloomed in the air around her.
Arngrim gulped, feeling Angelica's glacial gaze pierce him deeper than the cutting wind. He straightened slightly on the Phoenix's back, puffing out his chest with a last shred of bravado.
"After fighting the two masters..." He paused dramatically, trying to control his chattering teeth. "I was resting in what seemed like an abandoned house... when *It* appeared! The Ceramic Colossus! So suddenly I barely had time to react. When I blocked one of its treacherous strikes, I broke my fingers!"
His eyes widened, reliving the horror—a genuinely honest expression in his retelling.
"It was colossal. Terrifying! A true weapon, rectangular, carved from ceramic that surely came from the depths of the abyss. It had no eyes, yet it felt like it stared at me like a predator at its prey!"
He gripped the Phoenix's feathers tightly, his voice tinged with restrained desperation.
"My courage was tested like never before! Even my mighty Black Mist Dragon—thirty meters of fury and shadow—was summoned in response to its abyssal threat! Toppling stones like dry leaves! I ordered it to reduce the Colossus to dust with its Ray of Perdition!"
Arngrim closed his eyes, a tremor running through his body.
"But the Colossus... Oh, the Colossus! Before the attack could even touch it... a silent glow emanated from its surface. Ancient seals of power unleashed! They ignored the black ray as if it were nothing and engulfed my dragon! In an instant! Vanishing it like it had never existed!"
He brought a trembling hand to his chest, where the pain of the broken bond still throbbed.
"My battle companion, annihilated! And then, the Colossus itself... dissipated! Probably recalled by its evil summoner!" His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "It was a planned attack! Someone, some hidden power, specifically targeted my greatest strength! A trap!"
Arngrim looked down at the frozen land below, shame mingling with resentment.
"Weakened, I sensed presences approaching on the horizon—Damn the shadows scheming in the corners of this world!" He spat the words. "And I fled... desperately. A flight of my last breath, knowing distance was my only ally at that moment."
"That's the truth of what happened," Arngrim concluded.
The silence that followed was thicker than the snow falling over the peaks below. The wind howled, but it seemed distant, muffled by anticipation. Arngrim braced himself for punishment for his failure.
But then, the frost dancing around Angelica dissipated like smoke in the wind. Her crossed arms slowly lowered, and the marble-like rigidity in her shoulders eased almost imperceptibly. When she turned to him, her ice-blue eyes bore into him as if gazing into his soul.
"Nyr," Angelica whispered, her voice now a steady current of wind, firm, but this time, there was something like warmth in it.
The Ice Phoenix, Nyr, reacted instantly. A slight tremor ran through her powerful body. Her wings, beating with relentless force, softened their rhythm, turning the aggressive dive into a smoother, steadier flight. The frigid aura radiating from her feathers, once an impenetrable shield, gently drifted toward Arngrim. It wasn't warmth—it could never be—but the cold lost its aggression. It became a steady embrace, like a blanket of snow.
Angelica took a step forward on her ice platform, moving closer to the edge nearest Arngrim. Her gaze fixed on him with deep assessment.
Her lips, once a thin, unyielding line, curved slightly—not into a smile, but the shadow of a promise etched in ice.
"This affront, Arngrim," she continued, his name sounding strangely solid in her melodious voice, "will not go unanswered. Not just because you are a son of the Nightingale family, but because you are my betrothed and my beloved."
She extended a hand—not to touch, but in a solemn gesture. Sunlight reflected off her slender fingers, creating tiny rainbows.
"I swear by the eternity of ice," Angelica's voice gained volume, even overpowering Nyr's chirping as the Phoenix inclined her head in solemn agreement, her prismatic feathers shimmering in unison, "we will find this hidden power. We will make the summoner of this Ceramic Colossus know a fate worse than death!"
Arngrim felt a different tremor run through him. No longer just from the cold. It was something warm and strange, like a fire igniting in his chest, expanding as it embraced him.
"As for your loss..." Angelica went on, her voice shifting to something more personal, almost intimate, despite the grand setting. "A Black Mist Dragon was indeed strong." Her eyes glimmered. "Nyr and I will guide you to places where you may find monsters truly worthy—even mightier than your former one. Not a replacement... but a successor. And I, personally," she emphasized, and Nyr let out a deep chirp of agreement, a cloud of ice crystals puffing from her beak, "will dedicate all I can to help forge it into the most powerful, shaping it into a reflection of your will."
Angelica looked out at the infinite landscape of ice and light below them, her silhouette a figure of serene, unyielding authority.
"Rest now," she commanded, though the order sounded like an invitation to refuge. "Regain your strength. When we return home, leave everything to me!"
Arngrim felt exultation rise like a brief fire. Tears of relief and gratitude pricked his eyes, and an involuntary smile broke across his lips. She was everything—a safe harbor in the storm, a fierce and loyal ally. Yes, he was a blessed man—not just by her ethereal beauty, but by the unshakable strength of her character. Even his thirst for vengeance, now a shared torch, was fueled by her relentless fury.
But that same flame of retribution suddenly became an unbearable burden.
What would happen if she discovered the truth?
Arngrim made a silent vow in his heart: he would do everything in his power to ensure she never found that monster's summoner.
*****
Marcelo stared at the guild leader, making sure he wasn't mishearing.
"I did what?" Marcelo repeated.
Before he could utter another syllable, the leader raised his hand—not in a calming gesture, but as if wielding an unquestionable truth. A glint of something that might have been forced admiration—or deep suspicion—flickered in his eyes.
*"Spare me the modesty, Marcelo," the leader continued, his grave voice echoing through the austere chamber. He rose from his imposing chair, approaching with slow, calculated steps. "The Spring Mountain… reduced to rubble and a smoldering crater. A display of power… terrifying. Few in this world could achieve such a feat." His gaze swept over Marcelo from head to toe, as if searching for hidden signs of overwhelming strength. "When I heard you were heading there, I knew news would follow—but this truly surprised even me…" He sighed to himself, pieces clicking into place.
Marcelo opened his mouth, a "But I—" stuck in his throat. He remembered the chaos—the deafening roar, the earth shaking like a wounded beast, massive boulders flung like twigs. He had seen the destruction. But the cause? That raw, obliterating force? A mystery as vast as the crater that now replaced the peak. The only thing familiar was the blue flash he'd seen upon waking in Sunis' ruins.
"Wait! I—" Marcelo tried again, his voice hoarse from dust and disbelief. "I only saw it, but I didn't—"
"Of course, of course! Discretion! We'll ensure no one else learns of it," the leader cut in, raising a brow. He stepped closer, stopping just a few paces away, radiating palpable pressure. Lydia, perched on Marcelo's shoulder, let out a low growl of warning, her eyes locked on the powerful man.
"I heard about the cultists. You did well. I only lament the terrible fate of their poor victims. You've a ruthless heart—I imagine you share the resentment," Dragomir mused.
Cultists? Simon's earlier words flashed through Marcelo's mind, but he hadn't encountered any.
"Marcelo, Marcelo… If that's even your name," Dragomir murmured, almost to himself. "What surprises me most is that you're at a level far beyond what I imagined…" He exhaled sharply. "Regardless, as I said before: so long as you don't harm the guild's interests, you may count me as an ally."
A cold sweat trickled down Marcelo's neck. This is getting worse, he thought. He'd assumed posing as a Master would bring benefits—what harm could there be in being strong and respected? But this had spiraled far beyond his expectations. Resolved, he decided to confess the truth and face the consequences, even if it cost him everything he'd gained.
"Master Dragomir, the truth is… I'm not a Master," Marcelo admitted reluctantly, already bracing for the loss of his house, his guild card, and whatever punishment followed. He hadn't lied, but he'd let the status stand unchallenged—complicity, he hoped, might lessen his sentence.
"I already knew that!" Dragomir replied, as if Marcelo had insulted his intelligence by stating the obvious.
"You… knew?" Marcelo stiffened, nerves coiling tighter. So the guild leader had known all along—yet treated him this way, bestowed such privileges… What did he want?
Carefully, Marcelo ventured: "Then… can I keep the house and the card?"
"Of course you can. From the moment I summoned you here, I intended to support you. Your identity isn't a secret… at least, not to me," Dragomir answered.
Relief washed over Marcelo. "Thank you," he said.
"No need to worry," Dragomir assured him. "You'll have my support—and the guild's."
Marcelo was moved. He'd expected disaster, yet reality had surpassed his hopes. After exchanging a few brief words, he left the leader's chamber with a smile, wondering what plans the guild leader might have for him.
Alone, Dragomir sighed. How severely had Marcelo underestimated him? Now, he even knew his true identity.
Marcelo, the Grandmaster.
What glory awaited the guild with a member of such caliber? Should he abdicate and pass leadership to him? No— He dismissed the thought at once. If Marcelo wanted power, he could've founded his own guild with his status. Yet he'd chosen to remain a mere member, even enduring the entry trials! Dragomir exhaled heavily. What schemes does Marcelo have in store for me?